How To Win You Back
by GoddessCullen
Summary: Bella Swan runs away to England after being unable to face the looks of pity she is receiving from friends and family. She is hired as a nanny by a moody and very difficult Edward Cullen. Is the past really that easy to escape?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****this is my first fanfic, hopefully some of you will like it.**

I'm not entirely sure I'm pulling this off. Why is it you can never act and come across to people the way you want to. I'm trying to create the impression to the people surrounding me that I am a classy world traveller. That I have travelled before. The only places I've been on holiday to before have been other America states.

If I think about it properly I probably gave it away way to quickly. Messing on this the fragrances at Duty free; with the mix of around thirty different perfumes on my body, I smell more deadly than a skunk. It's strong enough to wake up the dead.

Being the very first person to arrive and camp out of the gate, beating everyone else by at least twenty five minutes. This shows just how weird of a situation was for me. I've not travel wise.

I'm actually in the air now and have figured out my disguise has been completely ruined. I have showed my status as a travel amateur.

After nearly knocking my undrinkable coffee onto my neighbor's lap, and somehow whilst catching that I have flung my knife from my in flight meal through the air. The air hostess then comes over to me and swipes the rest of my tray away before I can make any more damage.

My neighbor smiles, it's a smile of pity for me the poor creature next to him who should surely be on day-release from a psychiatric ward.

I lean back in my seat, thinking of what I'm doing here. I'm embracing a new beginning. I'm moving on. I'm going to discover a new world. Four thousand five hundred and fifty four miles across the Atlantic. Possibly for good? Doesn't sound like me, except here I am; actually doing it. Though I wish it was with rather more elegance.

Until last Friday, for the past seven years, I've worked for a nursery school in the heart of Seattle. By the time I left I'd risen to deputy manager, the youngest ever supposedly. This achievement doesn't reflect by ambition to me ruthless and the best, but is simply just a reflection of how much I really love my work. I mean really love it. Which is quite the relief considering that I dropped out of doing a law degree within the first year.

Basically my whole life, the job, the house I live in the hospital I was born in, my schools, everything is within Seattle. My entire existence. This I think is slightly tragic. However I have excuses, I found a job I treasured and a man I adored. So tell me this why would I want to give them up?

I shift in my seat, trying to get myself comfortable, another vain attempt. I lost the sensation in my ass cheeks a good two hours ago and no doubt I'm not going to be getting it back any time soon. I pick up my bag to try and find something, well really anything to do; I take out my compact mirror to examine my reflection. It isn't a pleasant experience I can tell you that.

Until recently I have been relatively okay with my looks. I inherited good bone structure from Dad's side of the family and good legs from mam's side; and even after years of angst I have learned to live with the washboard stomach I sadly didn't inherit from either.

At the moment though, my most striking feature is not my dark brown eyes of my full lips I used to be complimented on, but my skin because of having a very pale complexion. I went for one of those spray tans a couple of weeks ago. What a disaster. My knees and elbows ended up such an alarming shade of orange, my absolutely positive the beautician who applied it must have been sniffing glue because it was meant to give me a natural golden glow.

In less than a month my size four frame the one I took completely for granted that to be honest I even managed to complain about at least twice a day had somehow been replace with one that is now a size eight. If you hadn't realized until now that it was physiologically possible to put on that much weight in such a short time, then I assure you, neither had I. but it is and I have. This probably happened because I've spent the last couple of months comfort eating for America.

You may ask what had cause all of this, well what do you think? I'll tell you it was a man obviously. My man. At least that's what he used to be. Jacob Black, high flying accountant, pool champion, charmer of friends and parents alike, oh and the love of my life, no longer answers to the description of being mine.

I have spent many night weeping bitter tears into my pillow, spent many an hour with songs about heartbreak crooning out of my iPod. I have even accompanied my well meaning friends to karaoke bars and tried to look totally convincing as I tried to belt out 'I Will Survive'.

I throw my compact back into my bag after snapping it closed. I think about my future. I've got a year long work visa, so I'll be in England for at least twelve months, assuming that they don't throw me out first that is.

'Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,' announces a reassuring voice over a crackly speaker. 'We will shortly be making our decent into Heathrow…'

My new life is on its way, so I sit up in my seat and take a deep breath.

_AAAAA_

The second I step off the plane, I can feel how foreign of a country the United Kingdom is. Heathrow couldn't feel more foreign than sitting on the planet Pluto. I wander around the airport lounge, trying not to spend too long scrutinizing the flight information boards and a hopeless look on my face in case I give anybody the impression I don't know what I'm doing, and am surrounded in unfamiliar sights and sounds, language I recognize but have never used, nappies, mobile phones, post codes.

I'm on my way to be a nanny for Sophie (three and a half) and Karen (two), daughters of Mike and Jessica Newton. The Newton's run their very own camping equipment company in Cornwall. They sound lovely, really lovely; and unbelievably British. Jessica was really excited about how she and mike were welcoming an American nanny into their home. They told me I get my own car a FordFocus, I won't be expected to do any chores, and they'd like me to go on holiday with them to Bermuda next month, all expenses paid.

I feel my cell vibrate. There's a new message from the agency I've registered with, American Supernannies. 'This is a message for Isabella Swan,' begins the voice of Madeleine, the secretary I've been dealing with for the past few weeks. 'I'm terribly sorry about this, Isabella, but there's been a change of plan. Please do give me a ring when you have a chance.'

After enduring a long conversation I find out I'm no longer going to Cornwall, which means I'm no longer going to live with Mike and Jessica; Or to drive the FordFocus or to go to Bermuda. I'm now going to Mrs. E. Cullen, a single mother, to look after her two children, Amelia, who is nearly six and Thomas, who'd just turned three. There was a last minute change of plan, apparently. Mike and Jessica have a nanny, a girl from Plymouth who was with them last year and suddenly became available again after they came to an agreement about a pay rise. Had to remind myself to keep up my act I had to come across as a strong, confident, independent woman who is more than happy to live life on the edge and change her plans when required, even if that did mean that Bermuda was out.

Having taken the underground to King's Cross station I settle down to wait for my train to Newcastle and dig out my magazine.I sense somebody sit down next to me as I flick through my magazine. I catch a waft of the aftershave that immediately pricks my senses.

Calvin Klein Contradiction. I'd know it anywhere to be honest. It's the aftershave Jacob would splash on every morning, just after he'd checked his hair and straightened his tie. Forgetting exactly where I am I glance upward. My pulse racing. But it's not Jacob. Of course it isn't. I haven't seen him for nearly two months, who why would I think he would be here in the UK.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry It's been so long. Update again tomorrow if all goes well. Read and Review.**

* * *

Jacob and I met when I was twenty and he was twenty three, it was a small age difference really but at the time it felt more like twenty five year difference between Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. By the time I met Jacob I had already dropped out of the law degree that I hated and was a trainee at the nursery in Seattle, whilst he had finished college spent his gap year travelling around Europe and been accepted on the graduate trainee scheme for one of Americas biggest firms of accountants.

Jacob has to be the least likely accountant you could ever meet. It isn't that I have anything against accountants, but the typical stereotype is that they are very boring people which doesn't put them very high on the excitement stakes. This tale of the boring accountant really does become a myth as you get to know Jacob. He is the life and soul of any party; he's one of those people that seem to get on with absolutely everyone they meet. Everyone seems to love him.

When I met him I found him charming, engaging and absolutely gorgeous. He literally turned heads everywhere he went. Now at thirty he still remains his good looks. He has a toned and muscular body and is 6'7". But what makes Jacob to die for, really is his face and his heart warming smile. He was my own personal heart throb and I was utterly smitten with him. My feelings for him grew into what I knew was deep everlasting love. We knew each other's flaws and continued to love each other despite them. It was a solid love a real love; a love that was the basis for a lifetime together. Well that was what I thought anyway. I don't know how I could be so wrong.

* * *

I have been on my train for nearly two hours. With just under an hour left to go. I notice an envelope that has been hidden in the bottom of my bag. I pick it up and examine the front, where 'Isabella' is written in my mum's handwriting.

At forty six, my mum is relatively young, at least compared with the parents of most of the people that are of my age; after falling pregnant with me at eighteen. She and dad got married and have spent the last twenty eight years in life as traditional as they come. Even though she's so young she is no different from anyone else's mother. She's certainly no less over protective, as I discovered when I announced I was going on this trip. She made it no secret that she'd prefer me not to go. And when my mother has an opinion about something, she doesn't hesitate to let it be known.

I read the letter my mother snuck into my bag. She was basically telling me I would be better to stay at home in Seattle to show Jacob life goes on without him. That I should go on a diet, watch my weight and a few other random pieces of advice.

By the time I had finished reading I realised we were only minutes away from Newcastle and I started to pack away my belongings.

* * *

The person holding a sign with my name on isn't Mrs E. Cullen; that much is immediately obvious. I'm not saying this because the sign doesn't clearly say 'Isabella Swan' in huge black letters I suspect because my name is written so large and clearly that it could possibly be visible from space. It also isn't that the two children leaping about in the background couldn't imaginably fit the age descriptions of Amelia and Thomas. It was something else. Something every obvious; the person holding the sign with my name on is a man.

I couldn't let this faze me. I had to make a good first impression, I believe in all that. I stride across attempting to seem enthusiastic, confident and above all, so utterly professional.

He fixes his eyes on me. His expression is stern, but he's not unattractive. Not by any means. In fact he's… oh… he's breath taking. Oh…so scarily handsome.

He has an unusual shade of hair, it's not quite brown and it's not quite red; it's more of a bronze colour. His eyes are a penetrating emerald green, and although he's obviously a few years older than I am, a physique that would make anyone go weak at the knees. Tall, toned, broad shouldered, with just the right amount of muscle. On the other hand, this beautiful stranger isn't exactly what my mother would refer to as 'well turned out'. He clearly hasn't shaved in a week, and his T-shirt and Jeans might have seen better days. They don't look particularly clean nor do they look like they have been ironed. But somehow he manages to pull of the look amazingly well. He's good looking, but wild and dishevelled too. His brand of gorgeousness is rough and raw, dirty almost. Very different from… oh, why do I compare every man I meet with Jacob?

There is no doubt that the children belong to him. They both have the same striking eyes and distinctive hair, the little girl's falling in wavy tresses down her back, her brother's shorter, but overgrown and unruly. I continue towards them. It's only when I'm within a couple of feet that I realize their father's expression reveals his alarm.

'You must be…Isabella?' he says, almost reluctantly.

'I am!' I reply, rather more loudly than I'd intended. I drop my suitcase and hold out my hand. 'Really please to meet you,' I continue, shaking his vigorously.

'Follow me,' he instructs, grabbing my suitcase and marching off, with the children running behind.

'Oh, that's… that's really kind of you,' I mutter and try to keep up.

He beats me to the car, has the suitcase in the boot both children strapped in and the engine running before I've hauled myself into the passenger seat.

As we pull out of the car park, my heart is hammering with a combination of excitement and nerves and although I can barely believe it, because it's been so long since it's put in an appearance, a flicker of lust.

Partly to take my mind off the contours of his arms, I decide that now might be a good time to clear something up. 'Sooo… where is Mrs Miller?'

His eyes narrow and for a second, he looks very much like the terminator considering whether or not to tear someone's legs off. 'Is that suppose to be funny?' he says.

'No.' I frown. 'I mean, I just had a conversation with the agency who told me I'd be working for Mrs E. Cullen.'

'Sorry, honey. I'm E Cullen. Edward Cullen. And, as you can see, I'm no Mrs.'


End file.
